Monday, April 26, 2010

first cry

When I was born, you were still hungover,
There was no this and that to me,
there was no seperation between me and the universe,
there was no you and I, so I stomached your hangover myself,
drinking good beer and listening to good music did not mean anything,
temptation is not even a bother, and your clever fingers meticulously reading the surface of a girl's skin
but they are not clever enough to read her nights alone,
when she lies on her stomach and listen to her parents talk and cars rushing by outside
and you writing your will with borrowed words, and you humming the songs of others, thinking that that is enough
I suffer your lightness with the universe's weight,
I was born to save you, I was born to be you, but soon I'll be old enough to be your lover,
and we will still be hungover together.